


Le mythe de Sisyphe

by mac_am



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Dehumanization, M/M, Minor Character Death, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28711032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mac_am/pseuds/mac_am
Summary: 17th of the Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1185Only two weeks before they take the Great Bridge of Myrddin, one week before they leave Garreg Mach to infiltrate Gloucester territory.Although bolstered with the recent addition of Fraldarius troops, the Kingdom's army is still weak against the full Imperial might, and getting caught in a pincer maneuver between both Empire and Alliance soldiers would spell demise for all of Faerghus.Felix can't trust Claude, nor his schemes or intentions, least of all when their army has just marched through Ailell.Late at night, he visits the cathedral, hoping to change the course of the army from Enbarr to Fhirdiad.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Kudos: 16





	Le mythe de Sisyphe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mikazuki_Nika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikazuki_Nika/gifts).



> _Lone Moon_  
>  孤月の節
> 
> _End of the year and winter; time to reflect on partings and acquaintances_

Night at Garreg Mach has always carried a sense of mystique. So far up the mountains one could touch the Blue Sea Star if only they stretched their arm, so far up the mountains one misstep is a sentence to the Oghma depths. And its inhabitants all tether the line between Heaven and Abyss, whether sniveling rat or upright man.

Felix stands vigil outside the cathedral. A sentinel, cursed with a self-imposed duty to watch over the westernmost gate. He sees beams of moonlight rain upon the pews through the caved-in roof. 

A beast kneels at the transept, head hung low and lips muttering in a parody of a prayer. The altar of the Goddess, as though knowing that at its feet is naught but the mockery of a pious man, casts shadow upon its form, shielding it from the light bleeding through the broken red stained glass behind it. The fiend’s bowed form is indistinguishable from the mound of rubble at its back, a definite wall between it and the sanctuary.

Felix has stood in this exact same spot every night for weeks. Although he denies it fervently, a part of him wonders – _hopes_ – each time if perhaps the sight he'll find will be different. He can't bring himself to stop coming regardless. _Someone needs to look after the Boar_ , he reasons, _or else the Kingdom will be lost._

He knows himself well enough to see this is just a convenient excuse, and he's aware beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd be here, in the cold, late at night, whether the beast was a prince in name only or just a vengeful corpse. He'd simply loath to admit it. 

So, there he is. Now, if this were any other night, he would simply remain outside, unwilling to set foot in the beast's dwelling. But this is not any other night, and Felix has something to say to the creature parading as a prince. _No,_ he corrects, _it doesn't even bother doing that anymore._

His footsteps echo throughout the marbled nave as he crosses the gate and walks closer to the hunched figure. With each stride, specks of dust swirl around his leather boots. Only now can he make out the rivulets of royal blue spilling from underneath matted black fur. The gryphon emblazoned on the cape is obscured by rust-colored bloodstains, months – if not years – old. Felix glowers at it as he steps forward.

_One,_

_two,_

_three_

_._

"Do you plan on coming out anytime soon? Or are you so far gone you'd sooner die like a dog than lead your people?" When Felix receives no response, he continues. "Hundreds, _thousands_ are dying in this war. They trust you! Yet you'd rather let them all rot," he spats. 

The beast doesn't budge, still as a gargoyle. Content to keep mumbling at the ghosts haunting it. 

_There's an old folktale in Faerghus, that speaks of a man who donned the skin of a beast during the night, only to shed its fur at sunrise._ _The beast could run free under the stars, paws digging into fresh snow with each stride and ravenous song echoing all the way to the moon._

_Meanwhile, the man spent his days hard at work, making a living for his family. He would take the few breaks he could to play with his children, to kiss the wife he could never see after dark._

_One day, the balance was broken. From there sprung two different endings for the same story._

_I_ _n one of them, the beast ended up consuming the man and devouring his wife and children, only to run off into the mountains, never to be seen again._ _In the other, the man beat the beast to submission, and forewent its fur forever. At night, he locked the door and retreated to his wife's room, now theirs. He never got to tread through freshly fallen snow afterwards._

_So, which one will it be?_

**_[Je vois que beaucoup de gens meurent parce qu'ils estiment que la vie ne vaut pas la peine d'être vécue. J'en vois d'autres qui se font paradoxalement tuer pour les idées ou les illusions qui leur donnent une raison de vivre. Ce qu'on appelle une raison de vivre est en même temps une excellente raison de mourir.]_ **

"You're the commander of this army, Boar. When do you plan on acting like it?" 

Nothing. 

_He cheated Death, and now he is burdened by the wishes of those who died in his stead. It's a heavy mantle to carry on a steep, forever upward road. It is an impossible task._ _One can only go up so much before they fall. The way up is a demanding one, wearing souls thin with its implacable nature._

 _Dimitri climbs, and looks forward to the plunge._

"You'll never get her head if you fall halfway to Enbarr. And make no mistake Boar, that is exactly what will happen if we march to the Imperial capital. Worse yet, you'll bring us all down with you."

It is at the mention of the Adrestian Empress that the beast unfurls from its crouch and prowls towards Felix. Its pelt drags through the floor with the weight of a thousand souls. The whispers finally cease. 

A lone blue eye stares at him beneath a no-longer golden mane. 

"What do you want?" The beast growls, deep and guttural. Raging waves grating on a pebbled shore.

Brazen eyes stare back, unflinching. 

"Marching to Enbarr as we are is a suicide mission," Felix begins, all while approaching the doppelgänger masquerading as his long-lost friend. "Let us take back Fhirdiad. Faerghus needs its King," he says once he's close enough he could rake his fingers through that blonde mane if he so chose. And then, quietly: "As much as it pains me, we all do."

A butterfly flutters by.

"Why are you still here Felix?" asks the beast. 

Felix can't answer that question out loud, the same way he can't say why he lingers at the cathedral's gates each night. He knows it's useless, and yet… And yet. 

_A long time ago, back when Felix still looked at Dimitri like he'd hung the stars on the night sky and Dimitri still took care to delicately grasp Felix's hands between his, like he was a precious thing meant to be worshipped, Sir Gustave would have them visit the cathedral in Fhirdiad whenever possible._

_He insisted that the Crown Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus should be a devout follower of the Goddess, and Felix insisted on staying by Dimitri's side. Anything else would have been unacceptable. Lord Rodrigue, as a Holy Knight himself, had been happy to have his son learn the teachings of the Church of Seiros, thinking that perhaps a saintly hand would temper Felix's rebellious spirit._

_This was one of those times. Felix was uncharacteristically happy about going to mass for once. He hadn't seen Dimitri in months, not even during his short visit to the Palace with his brother and father a few weeks back._ _After King Lambert married Lady Patricia, Dimitri had spent all his time sequestered away with a mysterious girl. According to Sylvain, he had even gifted her a dagger._

_Even knowing the significance of the present, Felix would give no response whenever Sylvain teased him for being jealous._

"She'll need to learn how to wield it first," _Felix had said instead, proud of his skill with blades._

 _But enough about her, today it was just Dimitri and him – and Sir Gustave – and Felix would not let anything ruin it_. 

The mass itself merits no mention, safe for perhaps the way Dimitri and Felix kept glancing at each other, biting back their laughter at the priest's more outlandish prospects. 

What both of them remember most vividly is how, afterwards, when Sir Gustave was deep in prayer, – a rare moment of distraction – Felix seized the chance to sneak behind the lacquered pews with Dimitri. He grabbed one of the red candles that were lit beneath the looming icons of the Saints. It smelt of wax and Adrestian spices, sage and chamomile. 

_"Ask for whatever you want Mitya," Felix whispered into the young Prince's ear._

_Dimitri bit his lower lip._

_"I can't," he admitted._

_Felix frowned, his childish mind unable to comprehend the thoughts going through his friend's head, thinking his refusal stemmed from his responsible sense of self. Dimitri, ever the_ dutiful _and_ obedient _little Prince. A golden child._

_"Don't you want to ask for anything?"_

_"That's not it!" The prince hurried to say before Felix shushed him, keeping a close eye on the knight supposed to keep an eye on them._

_Dimitri flushed, then added softly:_

_"Prayers are not supposed to be selfish."_

_Felix brought a hand to his lips before letting out a muffled giggle._

_"It's not a prayer, it's a wish. Like when you blow the candles on a birthday cake."_

_Dimitri nodded with as much seriousness as a child could muster._

_"Then, may I ask that- I mean, I know there's Glenn, and I'd never be as callous as to insinuate he's not enough, but I-"_

_"Dimitri," interrupted Felix, "you can ask me for anything."_

_"Then, if it's not much to ask, would you stay by my side?"_

_This time it was Felix who felt heat rush to his cheeks as he gave Dimitri a beatific smile._

_"Of course!" replied Felix, huddling closer to him. Their warm breaths mingled when they blew the candle together._

Unfortunately, fate walks us all down labyrinthine roads, full of unexpected twists and unfathomable turns. It remains forever impossible to predict where each of us will end up. 

It is interesting to note, however, that Dimitri did seek solace in religion after the Tragedy of Duscur. Regrettably, the Goddess never talked back, only the ghosts. 

**_[D'un jeune prince qui s'était tué, on me disait un jour qu'il avait perdu sa sœur depuis cinq ans, qu'il avait beaucoup changé depuis et que cette histoire « l'avait miné ». On ne peut souhaiter de mot plus exact. Commencer à penser, c'est commencer d'être miné.]_ **

_"Dimitri, Dimitri-"_

He can feel Lady Patricia's slender finger caressing his temple, poking his right eye.

_"Are you willing to let this go without punishment Dimitri? My daughter burned her own mother alive, burned all of us alive!"_

No, no, of course not-

 _"My son,"_ a heavy palm on his armored nape _, "you'd let our Kingdom be humiliated in this manner? You'd watch Loog's legacy be destroyed by Adrestia?"_

No, no, please. I wouldn't, you know I wouldn't-

_"Then why do you stay here, when you could have hung her severed head up the gates of Enbarr already?"_

Of course! I'll leave as soon as possible, I just-

Fingers around his wrist.

_"Your Highness, will you let my sacrifice be in vain? Was the blood your subjects spilled from my brethren not enough?"_

No, Dedue, please, _please_ don't say that, I never wanted-

_"Then leave! What are you worth if you can't even accomplish your duty?!"_

_"We won't rest Dimitri, we won't rest-"_

_"It hurts! We're burning Dimitri-"_

Smoke in his lungs.

_"Don't leave us, don't you dare-"_

Fist clutching his beating heart.

_"We want her head, Dimitri!"_

Please, please, _I beg of you!_ I'll be _good_ , I promise. 

**_[Ce qui déclenche la crise est presque toujours incontrôlable. Les journaux parlent souvent de « chagrins intimes » ou de « maladie incurable ». Ces explications sont valables. Mais il faudrait savoir si le jour même un ami du désespéré ne lui a pas parlé sur un ton indifférent. Celui‑là est le coupable. Car cela peut suffire à précipiter toutes les rancœurs et toutes les lassitudes encore en suspension.]_ **

Back at the Officer's Academy, if anyone were to ask Dimitri about what happened during the Western Rebellion, he'd regretfully inform them that his memories of the event are an inarticulate heap of sensory stimuli at best, and an all-consuming chasm filled only with white noise at worst.

There is one thing he does remember clearly though. He doesn't think he'll ever forget. 

_In the midst of a field blooming red with corpses he'd helped blossom, Dimitri looked at Felix. He looked at him with the childish wonder he'd glanced at him with back at that cathedral in Fhirdiad all those years ago. He looked at him, an unasked question in unhinged pools of blue._

_The only blood on Felix's cheeks this time around was the one Dimitri had splattered on him. This time around, he turned away, leaving the orphaned Prince behind._

_Dimitri could feel something breaking inside of him. A quintessential part of his soul being ripped away by the one he'd always trusted to keep it safe. An ineffable emptiness, a pain so great he was incapable of screaming. He couldn't even blame Felix._

_Then Glenn's charred hand grasped his chin before he huffed at him to forget about it, to cut down the head of those that would bring such harm to Faerghus. Dimitri’s smile stretched and stretched until his gleaming grin curled into wicked tusks. Glenn's breath scorched his skin when he lifted his lance._

Conversely, if one asked Felix, they'd find that it's the opposite for him. He remembers each part of the one he used to call Dimitri's rampage with unmatched clarity and yet, when it comes to the confrontation itself, he draws a blank. 

But it is of no importance now. Felix is here on a mission, so he tangles his fingers in the beast's hair and _yanks_. He can see the foul creature's unseeing eye clear up slightly at the motion. Tears drip from that unblinking stare down hollow cheeks, a tortured path of indescribable sorrow. A single drop falls to the ground next to the resting butterfly.

Felix blinks away his own misty gaze. He swallows down the knot in his throat. And speaks. 

**_[-des souvenirs d'une patrie perdue ou de l'espoir d'une terre promise. Ce divorce entre l'homme de sa vie-]_ **

"You are a Prince, Boar, you need to-" 

_"-retrieve the Emperor's head in retribution for her misdeeds-"_

"-the people of Fhirdiad are-" 

_"-hungry. They're hungry Dimitri, they lust for blood. Don't you-"_

"-want to free Faerghus? It's our Kingdom-" 

_"They've gone so far as to call it the Dukedom. Will you stand-"_

"-up and fight, Boar! Fodlan-" 

_"-is infected, Dimitri. Sick, rotten to the core. A disease that will only go away once you kill her, like you-"_

"-beast, and even then-" 

_"I'm talking to you, Dimitri."_

"I'm talking to you, Boar!"

A gloved hand clutches his chin and lurches his head forward. 

He looks up, and Glenn's icy stare thaws as the sun peaks at the zenith of Faerghus' frozen mountain tops. 

Felix's eyes shine golden when he tightens his fingers into a bruising grip. 

_"I'm_ talking to you."

Dimitri blinks dazedly at Felix. 

Felix sighs, the hand he has in Dimitri's hair leaving to pinch his own nose instead. 

"We're the only ones here," he says, tired and weary, "just you and me." 

"There's never _'just me',_ Felix. They're always here, crawling at _my_ feet, cursing _her_ existence, imploring _she_ be burned with her head on a spike-" 

"The dead don't speak." 

"Not to you."

 **_[Si ce mythe est tragique, c'est que son héros est conscient. Où serait en effet sa peine, si à chaque pas l'espoir de réussir le soutenait?]_ **

Felix finds himself at a loss.

He's tired, exhausted even. He doesn't know what to say, what to do to make the Boar abandon his ludicrous, suicidal advance to the Empire's capital. 

“You don’t understand.”

The fog of war in Dimitri's mind thickens, and he adds:

"The dead must have their tribute."

Felix slaps him so hard his neck cracks at the harsh turn of his head. The sound echoes in the empty halls of the cathedral, a chiming bell from ages past. 

"The dead, the dead, _the dead!_ Always the dead! Is there nothing else on your mind? Do you thirst for blood too much to think of the living that spill it? Tell me!" 

Dimitri's cheek throbs, hot and painful. He's grateful for it. It gives him something to focus on, as he stares at the cracked Crest of Seiros below him. He almost smiles at the tiny green bud pushing through the gaps. The butterfly sits on its minute leaf and flaps its wings.

He doesn't dare answer the question, doesn't think he could handle it if Felix hated him more than he already does. 

_Why do you stay?_

_You didn't before, you didn't! Youdidntyoudidntyoudidnt-_

He remains silent. 

"When will it get through your thick skull, Boar?" Felix chides, softly clicking his tongue. "I'll repeat it as many times as it takes: the Kingdom needs its King. We've been devoid of him long enough." 

_I've been devoid of him long enough_. 

Dimitri doesn't feel like the King of anything, save for maybe the dead clawing at his heels. And even then, he's more their servant than anything else. A groveling corpse himself. 

"Tell me then," he whispers, clawed fingers trailing down Felix's cheek, the frigid steel leaving goosebumps in its wake, "would you follow me as your King, Felix?" 

"I don't bow down to beasts."

 **_[Ce serait trop beau. Mais il faut faire la part de ceux qui, sans conclure, interrogent toujours. Ici, j'ironise à peine : il s'agit de la majorité. Je vois également que ceux qui répondent non agissent comme s'ils pensaient oui. De fait-]_ **

_2nd of the Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1186_

Rodrigue is dead. There's another coffin hanging off his neck, and Dimitri hasn't felt lighter in years, with Felix on his knee before him. 

_Boar, Dimitri, Mitya. Which one are you?_

He'd long finished shedding the dented, pitch-black armor Dimitri hadn't dared change out of in more than five years before he slid the breastplate emblazoned with the Blaiddyd Crest over the blond's torso, the lamp's soft light smoothing Felix's own jagged edges. 

The swordsman is now carefully adjusting his silver poleynes, dexterous fingers skillfully attaching them to his greaves, making sure they're neither too tight or too loose. 

Once they pass his rigorous examination, he gets back on his feet, and looks at Dimitri. 

The Prince had always been a hulking monster of a man, but whereas his black armor brought attention to his looming frame and rabid gaze, this one emphasized his wide back and rippling arms. It made his azure eyes shine a little brighter. 

Clad in silver with his hair tied back in a high, short tail, Dimitri looks like a man who could carry the world on his shoulders. 

Felix doesn't want him to have to. So, he grabs the navy cloth laying on the royal bed, black and white fur tickling his fingertips. The proud gryphon, which had faded so long ago, has been stitched back on with snow-white threads. The bloodstains had been cut off the cape, the bottom trimmed and lined, gold and baby blue. 

His fine and calloused hands maneuver around a head of shocking gold, and they clasp the cape beneath sturdy pauldrons. 

Once he's done, Dimitri lowers his head so that their noses almost touch, a sliver of space between them, fragile and trembling. Loose golden strands tickle Felix's cheek when he speaks. 

"Do you understand now Felix," Dimitri starts, soft as white rose petals, careful to cherish and not to destroy with brutish force, "that I am both the man and the beast?" 

Felix smooths his hands on his soon-to-be King's shoulders. He steps closer to Dimitri, their noses finally meeting with the slightest of caresses, and breathes the answer into his lips.

Dimitri reigns in the urge to clasp Felix's hips and pull him in until they don't know where one starts and the other ends; yet he can't help but hunch over him, dwarfing his small frame, keeping the warmth they share tucked close.

After a lifetime of secrets told in sighs and parted lips, Felix tilts his face away, but doesn't step back. His hand moves to put a few unruly blond tresses back in place. 

"They're waiting. We have to go," he says, fingers still threading Dimitri's hair.

"Indeed. Shall we?" Dimitri doesn't offer him his arm. Felix would prefer to march in front of him, if anything. 

The blue-haired man gives a sharp nod, yet both of them walk together, shoulders grazing every now and then, to the throne room. 

**_[Cet univers désormais sans maître ne lui paraît ni stérile ni futile. Chacun des grains de cette pierre, chaque éclat minéral de cette montagne pleine de nuit, à lui seul, forme un monde]_ **

It isn't a coronation. Not really, not with the Empire having control of the West, having the audacity to call them _'the Dukedom'._

There are no crowns, no priests other than perhaps Byleth, looking at Dimitri from the side with something akin to pride in their eyes. And yet, when he gazes down at the people clamoring for him in the streets of Fhirdiad, faces gaunt and scarred by war, souls bright and resilient with the will to fight, he feels like a King for the first time in his life. 

He chances a glance to his right. Felix is there, looking stunning in Blaiddyd blue. The butterfly settles down on Dimitri's right shoulder.

Life is an uphill battle, a continuous trek up a mountain that will inevitably end when he jumps off the summit and plummets to his death. _But_ , Dimitri thinks, _perhaps the struggle towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart._

**Author's Note:**

> _\- Ah, it's more courageous to overcome._
> 
> _Achilles, Come Down_  
>  Gang of Youths
> 
> Indeed, all of this started out as a songfic.
> 
> Thanks again to Mikazuki_Nika, without you this would have languished in my Google Docs forevermore, collecting dust and OCD-induced overcorrections.
> 
> Also, a special mention to ringtheory. Believe it or not, I used to ship Sylvix until their fics dragged me kicking and screaming into the pitch-black, all-consuming void that is Dimilix.


End file.
